


Clinging to the Good

by Kendrickhier



Series: Of Forgiveness and Restoration [1]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Astra isn't dead what are they talking about, Canon Rewrite, Gen, Unreliable Narrators: Kara and Alura, but only the acting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 19:32:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14900645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kendrickhier/pseuds/Kendrickhier
Summary: 3x20 rewrite: Where Kara and Alura talk about Astra, except it's not tone-deaf because Alura is played by Laura '1000 micro expressions per second' Benanti.That's right. I rewrote the acting. This is the scene we deserved from that script.





	Clinging to the Good

Alura wasn’t sure what to feel, exactly. Kara’s return, it’s something she’d stopped hoping for, hadn’t dared to anymore, not after decades have passed. But here she is, in Argo City, right in front of her. She thought she’d be happier, seeing her daughter again. She’d thought… No, hoped, she’d hoped it would be simple, filled with pure, unbridled joy.

Don’t get the wrong idea: Alura is very happy to see her again. It’s just… more complicated than that.

Watching Kara now, all grown up and in her new home here in Argo City, that happiness is clouded. Clouded by shame, and guilt, and things that should have been but never were. The same feelings that have plagued her for these past decades, that she’s spent much time learning to control, to keep in check so she wouldn’t crumble.

She is absolutely certain Kara has more complicated feelings than she is currently showing, too. Always focusing on the good and clinging to that, just as she’s been taught. As they’ve both been taught. As they’ve both needed to do, having lost everything they held dear.

First Astra. Then Kara. Then Zor-El.

“I remember this flower,” Kara says, wistfully touching the leafs of the plant. “This is a Dar-Essa. You kept one in my room when I was little.”

Despite herself, Alura can’t help but be drawn in by the moment, and a soft smile creeps up on her at the memory of it. Clinging to the good. “It was a gift from grandmother for your first birthday.”

“Yeah, you used to measure it to see how tall it was.” There’s a touch of wonder in her voice. She turns her head towards Alura as she continues, “It was, uhm... Wasn’t it supposed to-“

“Grow as you grew?” More memories emerge as she approaches, of Kara standing next to it, the flower only being taller due to being propped up in its pot. Until it wasn’t, until even with the pot they were the same height. “Yes, I got it for you when you were so little, but you outsped the Dar-Essa. You grew tall so fast.” Seeing her daughter next to it now, she can see they are once again of similar heights. Even now, decades later, the Dar-Essa caught up and held true. But while Alura got to see the flower grow, there’s a pang in her heart at the reminder that she didn’t get to see her Kara grow along with it.

Kara’s gaze returns to the plant, really taking it in. “I can’t believe it survived the fall.”

“It’s strong, like you,” she replies, trying to still sound as happy and wistful as before. Willing that hurt to go away and hide until she can sort it out later, away from Kara. It sneaks into her voice regardless, and it breaks that fragile mask they’ve both been wearing; Alura’s face falls. “I feel as though I’ve let you down.”

“Mom, no, please.”

Kara, sweet Kara, tries to make it better again, but they have to talk about this. _Alura_ has to talk about it. She can’t keep this inside any longer, and it’s not for a lack of effort. “I—I shouldn’t have accepted that you died. I had always taught you to hope.” That guilt amplifies as if on cue, constricting her throat, but she has to say this, she _has_ to. It sounds somewhat choked when she continues, “But I gave up.”

It’s not just giving up hope Kara was alive after all this time, it was also giving up hope when sending her away. If she’d had faith the shield would actually work to protect them, if she’d had faith in _her husband_ and the Council. The same Council that refused to take action in time, the same Council that could have prevented Krypton from being destroyed in the first place, the same Council that not only disregarded her but also—

Regardless, she should have held hope. For the sake of her daughter.

“I could say the same,” Kara interjects, trying to reassure, desperately trying to get back that comfortable atmosphere they had before. “I gave up hope. I thought you had died with Krypton.”

An understanding, and a want to make the best of the moments they do have now. Alura recognizes it for what it is, and it’s reassuring enough for her to push down this raging storm of feelings a little longer. Kara comes first, always. And truly, it’s a miracle they’ve found each other again, alive and well. “But here I am, and here you are.” She’s not sure if she’s telling Kara or reminding herself, but it’s enough to muster up something that passes for a smile, if somewhat tearful. She wants to touch, wants to reach out, but isn’t sure if it’s wanted, if she’s earned the right to, so she doesn’t.

This is a moment she’d imagined many times during the first years here, on this relic of Krypton. Dreams both during the night and day, filled with joyous disbelief and reconciling and many, many hugs. She didn’t think she’d be able to let Kara go again, let alone stop touching her, not after Kara’d run back to her for a hug when sending her—

No, that’s not something she should be remembering right now, not again. There are better memories to be remembered. Specifically, Kara’s memories; the ones that don’t include her. “So tell me about your life,” Alura requests, ever attempting to keep composure, even when it comes to hiding the desperate eagerness of learning how her daughter has been. Desperate to keep her mind from dark places. By Rao’s grace, she realizes they’ve been apart longer than they have been together. Her voice is much softer, sadder, when she adds, “I’ve missed so much.”

“Uhm… Okay.” She laughs awkwardly, and it’s good to know that some things never really change. As a child Kara would fret when being the center of attention, she’d never grown fond of it, but it mercifully hadn’t stopped her from excelling regardless. Kara takes a seat and starts talking, fondly. “I was taken in by this amazing family. Jeremiah, Eliza, uhm…” There’s a slight hesitation, and a cursory glance Alura can’t quite interpret. “A sister, Alex.”

Oh.

That explains the hesitation.

“A sister?” And oh, there’s so many mixed emotions tied to that that she has to sit down. The initial response is relief, focused on Kara’s well-being and happy she got to have someone so close to her, someone presumably around her own age. Someone to confide in, to support and be supported by. But that quickly follows by something that feels like a solid punch to the gut, the tainted memories of her own sister hurting her more than she is willing to let on. So much guilt. So much shame. So many regrets.

She swallows thickly.

Kara continues on quickly, and there’s a sparkle in her eyes when she does so, “And she’s so much more than that. She’s a friend. She’s… She’s amazing.” There’s a moment in which she revels in what Alura can only assume are good memories. After which her face falls slightly, grows more hesitant, like she’s not sure how to bring up what she’s about to. “Uhm… Fort Rozz crashed on Earth.”

Speaking of regrets.

Her gaze turns towards the floor, regretfully, mournfully. “Fort Rozz was my deepest shame.” Astra, _Astra_ was her deepest shame, sending her own sister there, so shortly before the planet’s demise. Not a day goes by that she doesn’t think about how, if she’d let her sister go, if she’d _helped her_ for just a year, even if it’d be to keep her away from the High Council, she’d still have Astra by her side. It may have cost her reputation, but it’d have been worth it. She’d give anything to get her family back, if she could.

But there is hope now. If Fort Rozz crashed on Earth, there is a chance, however slim. The prison was made to withstand any sort of impact to make sure the criminals wouldn’t be able to escape. Theoretically, this shouldn’t have killed them, not if the emergency systems worked as they should. She has to know. “The prisoners, they all survived?”

She looks at Kara, her eyes shining with emotion, hoping to convey the unasked question, the one she doesn’t dare to ask outright. _Astra, is Astra still alive?_

“Astra survived,” is the first thing that comes out of Kara’s mouth, and Alura almost lets out a sob of relief. Containing herself is getting harder and harder. “Non, too.” It’s information added for the sake of completion; while he got along decently with Kara, Alura has never grown quite fond of him.

But by Rao’s grace, her sister is alive. Alive, and out of that timeless prison; she isn’t stuck for all eternity as Alura had feared. “I’ve thought of her so much.” The words themselves come out without a hitch, but it’s followed by that sob she’d been trying to hold back, and her hand moves to cover her mouth immediately.

A breath.

After which Alura removes her hand and continues with a tight throat, “I should’ve listened to her, but the way she did things was so…” She searches for a word to do it justice, something that encompasses the extremity of it, the immorality, as well as the desperation.

“Wrong.”

The word Kara suggests sounds crass, and Alura’s mouth twists sadly, her brows furrowing together. It’s not the word she wanted to use for it; was she truly wrong? After everything that’s happened, Alura is no longer certain.

When she looks at Kara however, she sees that same hesitancy reflected. Astra has clearly told Kara what she’d been trying to do, her motivations, her plans. Kara understands, and so Alura nods, sighing dejectedly, “Yeah.”

They share a look, one that prompts Kara to continue. “Her and Non tried to bring terror to Earth for a while, but she changed.”

And oh, the hope that sparks.

No one got out of Fort Rozz the same, Alura’s seen too many of those unfortunate cases up close. It’s a hostile environment that brought out the worst in people, and hearing her sister was no exception isn’t a surprise whatsoever. Her intentions were always honorable, both in her best and worst moments that is the one thing that always held true. She wonders what brought Astra the insight to change. Was it Kara? Surely.

But then Kara’s face falls, and that blooming hope stops dead in its tracks. “Well, she _was_ changing,” Kara says, and Alura wants to plead her to not finish that sentence. “Before she died. We gave her Kryptonian burial rites.”

Just like that, Alura’s fragile hope is turned to dust.

It’s more than just that hope that emerged during the conversation. There was more hope there, a hope Alura hadn’t been aware of harboring, not after all those decades, but it was there. No one ever declared Astra dead. In fact, she’d been thought to be stuck in the Phantom Zone, alive and angry. Hearing those words now, ‘she died’, hearing that confirmation…

She wants to scream.

She wants to cry.

She _is_ going to cry; swiftly, she gets to her feet, walks herself over to the window to cover up those tears.

There is a selfish part of her that feels relieved at hearing Astra is dead; she won’t have to deal with her sister’s wrath, won’t have to deal with any of the consequences of her actions, because they are already taken care of, but at what cost? Astra is gone. It doesn’t alleviate the guilt, it doesn’t ease her regrets, it doesn’t erase the past.

It’s easier, not having to deal with the consequences, but it’s hard, for part of her needed them. She needed Astra’s rage, yelling and blame, perhaps some physical aggression, needed to be held accountable.

Instead there is nothing, and Alura has never felt the guilt more than she has right now.

At least they gave Astra a proper farewell. At least they had someone say the rites for her. No, not just anyone, they had _Kara_ say the rites for her; tradition dictates it. It should have been her. It should have been Alura to say her rites. Even though she doesn’t deserve to say them after what she’s done to Astra, _her sister_ , Kara shouldn’t have had to.

Wiping the tears that fell down and taking a steadying breath, she turns back towards Kara. She couldn’t be strong for her daughter then, but she’ll be damned if she’s not going to try to now. “On Argo, we learn from Krypton’s mistakes. We look to our past for edification,” Alura starts, desperately trying to not think about how Astra was changing, about how she would have fit right in with the rest of them, ever changing and improving themselves. “My mistakes were the biggest of all.”

Were they ever plentiful, too. Alura hardly knows where to start, even now, nor does she know which mistake is the biggest. Sending Kara away had the most profound impact, that much is certain. No ambiguity there; if she’d had kept Kara with them they would have survived together, she wouldn’t have had to lose everything, she’d still have had _something_.

But Astra, what she’s done to her, those were her first mistakes. Her first mistake was luring her to their house, through Kara no less. She’d been too concerned with her duty and too little with her family, and the entirety of the planet along with it. Oh yes, she’d tried to fight for the planet her own way, but it hadn’t worked and she could have easily predicated that. If they didn’t listen to a knowledgeable decorated general, why would they listen to anyone else? Her second mistake was going through with sentencing her to Fort Rozz; the length of it hadn’t mattered, a single cycle would ultimately have had the same effect as the life sentence she received.

Her third and final mistake when it came to Astra, possibly the biggest, was condemning her to the Phantom Zone.

Fort Rozz used to be located in Krypton’s atmosphere, but as their core grew more unstable and circumstances got worse, Alura had convinced the High Council to send the prison to the Phantom Zone. It would keep the prisoners contained and away from civilized people, making the possibility of survival combined with escape negligible. More importantly, it would keep Astra safe from the explosion. But it also trapped her in what was meant to be an eternal nightmare.

Not just Astra either; there were many relatively innocent, redeemable people in that prison. Good people that were on the verge of getting out on parole, now condemned to be with the worst criminals in their galaxy until the end of time. She shakes her head; she only thought of the safety of the civilians, not of what would happen to the prisoners. “I sent so many to suffer at that prison without a second thought.”

But especially Astra. How in Rao’s light had she been able to condemn her own sister like that?

“You just… You did what you thought was right.” The hesitation in Kara’s speech says everything. What she _thought_ was right.

“So did Astra. But I was wrong.” They had both been. Or maybe Astra hadn’t been wrong, maybe she’d been right despite her desperate measures. In desperate times, what else is there to do? It would have given the planet its best chance, however slim. “It took losing you, losing everything, to learn that,” Alura continues, eyes shining with tears once again. She can’t help herself, everything just comes pouring out now that all those old wounds have been ripped open again. “Can you forgive me?”

And oh, Kara is on her feet within a second, pulling her into an embrace. Alura is sobbing in her arms when her daughter says “Of course I do” so readily, so soothingly, hands rubbing her back reassuringly. “Of course,” Kara says once more, softly, and Alura almost misses the lost undertone amidst her own crying. Her daughter has become so strong, swallowing her own hurt, so gentle and kind, so considerate as to not hurt her more, and she’d be a fool not to allow Kara to do so.

However, she will talk to Kara about her feelings later, when Kara is ready to do so. It won’t be an easy conversation, but it’ll be just as necessary as this one.

Who knows what that conversation will unearth.

 

**Author's Note:**

> (I know. Kara spending 24 years in the Phantom Zone, that's what that conversation will unearth. And also Astra dying in her arms, the anger on Astra's behalf, but most of all, Kara's own anger, which burns brighter than Rao itself.)
> 
> Also Astra isn't dead, her solar nap is just taking a while.


End file.
